


Stitches

by dyingpoet



Series: newsies ships of new york [1]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, M/M, i write for other ships now guys it's a autumn miracle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 02:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16108589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/pseuds/dyingpoet
Summary: Davey cooks a meal for Race and things don't go exactly as planned





	Stitches

**Author's Note:**

> yo yo ik this is sort of a rare pair and prob not gonna get a ton of attention but i r e a l l y hope yall like it :)

“Do you want tomatos or spinach on it?”

Davey’s voice drifted in from the kitchen, an absolutely  _ amazing  _ smell following it out, and Race forced his eyes away from their TV to glance back. 

“Both?” he called, a lilt at the end of the word. Honestly he hadn’t eaten all day, and Davey could have made him a piece of toast and he would have thought it was the best thing in world right now. “Unless you want to save the spinach for tomorrow?”

There was a second of silence from the kitchen and Race tried to focus on that instead of April and Andy getting married on the screen, he hated Jack for being right about them getting together. 

A fridge was opened and something clanged on the counter. “Yeah that’s smart, Jack’s got Spot on that weird health kick and he’s obsessed with spinach.”

Race barked out a laugh. “Like that’s gonna last. I’ve known Spot for ten years and he would kill me for a steak at any given second.”

There was a light hum from the kitchen and Race figured Davey had started chopping up tomatoes. The whole ‘him cooking’ thing was mostly because he felt bad that Race wasn’t going to be able to visit his family over winter break, and since Race had gone on for ages about how his mother made this awesome Sicilian pizza from scratch, he decided to give it a shot.

From the smell alone Race thought it was going fantastic,  _ and  _ Davey wasn’t letting him help; he was basically his version of a dream boyfriend. 

About five minutes passed in a comfortable silence; Race was watching  _ Parks and Recreation,  _ Davey was chopping stuff up in the kitchen, and the whole apartment smelled like a bakery in Little Italy. 

After those five minutes though, the chopping stopped abruptly, followed by the sharp sound of something hitting the ground, and then a tense silence. Davey always yelled out something to let Race know he hadn’t broken something or hurt himself in anyway, and the silence was palpable. 

“Dave? Everything good?” Race paused the TV and pulled his legs onto the couch to sit up and turn toward the kitchen. Still no reply. “Davey, you okay?”

The water started running. “Yeah, I’m-I’m good.”

Davey’s voice was shaking a little bit and he didn’t offer anything else up, so Race pulled himself up off the couch and hurried toward the kitchen door.

“Hey, are you sure-oh my god.” Race stopped in the doorway, hands flying up over his mouth, the door coming back to bang him in the back of the head. He didn’t feel it. “What the fuck happened?”

The kitchen sort of looked like some weird Civil War hospital with all the damn  _ blood _ . It was all over the counter and dripping onto the floor, and Davey was holding his hand tightly to his chest, half under the running faucet, half out. 

His face was white as a sheet. “I-I just nicked my hand when I was cutting up the tomatoes, it’s fine.”

Race stared at him in a weird shock for half a second before rushing over to his side, pulling gently at the arm cradled against his chest. 

“No, it’s not, Jesus Christ look at all the blood, let me see it.”

“I really just think we need to wrap it up-”

“ _ Davey _ ,” Race cut in forcefully, “please let me see it, if it’s bleeding that much you might have to go to the hospital.”

Davey was looking paler by the second, leaning against the counter a bit for support, and after a second of looking Race in the eye he sighed and held out his hand, palm up.

“Fucking  _ Christ _ ,” Race gasped, like actually full on gasped, and reached out to lightly cup Davey’s hand in his own. He’s gotten it right at the start of the wrist, where it meets the forearm, and blood was rising up through what looked like layers of the ripped open skin. It almost made him sick. “Okay, we need to go to the hospital right now.”

Davey stuttered incoherently for a second, bringing his arm back into his chest and dodging Race’s attempt to grab his sleeve. “No I think we can take care of it here.”

Gaping at him, Race took a slow step forward. “ _ Davey _ , you’re losing a lot of blood right now, we need to go.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Race said quickly, his heart rate picking up, hands starting to shake. “I mean, how-how are you even standing? You need to get stitches.”

Either the blood loss took some of the fight out of him, or Race’s words actually sunk in, but after a second Davey nodded clumsily and let Race walk him out of the kitchen. They were grabbing a rag for the cut and rushing down the apartment stairs within a minute, Race rambling the entire way and Davey nodding along jerkily.

Race’s passenger seat was covered in droplets of blood pretty much as soon as Davey got inside, but neither of them paid much attention to it.

* * *

 

“You’re going to need about seven stitches,” the doctor said, pulling back from where he’d been hunched over Davey’s hand, which had thankfully stopped bleeding right before they got there. “A nurse will be in to take you into the operation room in a minute or so while I get the painkillers set up.”

Davey looked like he was in another world, eyes glued to the gash on his hand, so Race thanked the doctor for him as he walked out. 

“See, it’s not that bad.” Race squeezed Davey’s uninjured hand sympathetically. “I had to get twenty stitches that time Jack threw that vase at me.”

He turned his head to the side and moved his hair a bit to show a long scar. Davey nodded silently and played with the hem of his shirt in silence.

“C’mon, give something here.”

Davey looked up to meet Race’s pleading look and bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m afraid of it.”

Race cocked his head to the side. “Of what? The actual stitches or the pain thing-”

“All of it,” Davey cut in, “the whole thing is going to hurt and I’ll probably throw up or something watching it, and it’s my right hand so I’m screwed with doing anything for a while.”

He tossed in that last part as a weak addition, and Race grabbed his chin lightly and pulled his face so that they were looking right at each other. 

“Hey, I’ll be in the room when it happens, you can squeeze my hand or something and look at me instead of the doctor the whole time.”

Davey smiled weakly and rested his forehead against Race’s shoulder. “Sorry for scaring you back at the apartment.”

“Nah, it’s good for you to keep me on my toes like that, spices up the relationship.”

He got a feeble laugh out of that just as the nurse walked in, both of their heads snapping toward the door. 

She smiled lightly at the two of them, stepping aside to hold open the door. “Room 107.”

Davey tensed as Race took his hand, letting himself be pulled out of the room and down the hall.

“It’ll be fine, I swear.”

* * *

 

There was blood all over his passenger seat. He hadn’t paid much attention to it on the way there, but Davey gave it a funny look before sitting down, bandaged hand tucked awkwardly into his chest as Race shut his door for him.

“Sorry for ruining your car,” Davey said quietly, surveying the damage, “I didn’t think I was bleeding all that much.”

Race slid into the driver’s seat and snorted before starting the car. “Look at your shirt, it was like that scene in  _ Carrie _ .”

He felt more than saw Davey roll his eyes, and he pulled out of the hospital parking lot as gently and slowly as he could. The doctor told them two weeks before the stitches could get taken out, and Davey should take two or three days off of working or anything else in case he aggravated the cut.

Davey had groaned, but Race was excited as hell to take care of Davey for a change.

Technically this was a ‘medical emergency’ so he could definitely get someone to cover his next two shifts.

“Ha, ha, very funny.”

“It was!” Race insisted, braking at a red light. “The doctor said you lost over a pint, that’s a ton of blood.”

“Whatever.”

Davey reached for the radio and turned it on low, a smile tugging at his lips when he leaned his head back against the seat. He looked a little pale still, and exhausted, so Race hummed along to the radio for a while in silence.

He pulled into the space in their apartment building’s lot, parking the car and turning to tell Davey to be careful with the seat belt, when he heard a light snore. 

Davey was out like a light, head lolling forward and everything. It was kind of adorable, and he found himself smiling softly. And he may or may not have carried him out of the car and up three flights of stairs to their apartment. It wasn’t a big deal. 

The bloodstains on his passenger seat, and just their kitchen in general, could be conversation pieces when people came over. They weren’t a big deal. 

Davey was actually sort of the only big deal, and as long as he was fine, the rest didn’t really matter. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ayy so just so you guys know ill p much write for any newsies ship as a part of this series, so hmu with your rare pairs and prompts or whateva :)
> 
> also kudos and comments murder me in the best possible way


End file.
